


Be There

by littleboxesofstars



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentioned panic attack, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 11:58:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14520036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleboxesofstars/pseuds/littleboxesofstars
Summary: After waking up from a nightmare, Stan calls the one person he knows will make him feel safe.





	Be There

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t have any stanlon fic on this acc yet and it’s a fucking disgrace  
> Title taken by Seafret's song "Be There"  
> Also posted to my tumblr @trash-the-tozier (i accidentally typed 'dumblr' at first and......yeah)

Stan couldn't sleep. 

 

Well no, that wasn't quite true. He had been asleep, a nightmare ripping into his subconscious almost instantly. He'd woken up with a cry, his hands going to the sides of his face; the round scars stung, feeling open and gaping and bleeding, but when the pads of his fingers touched them, he found the afflicted areas soft and scarred over, feeling more like silk than skin. 

It was the same dream, the same nightmare plaguing his mind since the events in it had been a reality. It felt so real, after all this time, being stuck in the sewers, isolated and choking on both grey water and his own fear as he was shoved to the floor, rolled onto his back, the eldritch rictus leering over him.  

He'd since calmed down, stopped his crying, but he still shook and felt slightly dizzy and couldn't quite breathe right. Anguish pricked at his eyes, hot and wet, surging forwards and spilling down his cheeks despite the headache he already had over dehydration from previous tears and his cold sweat. Why wasn't he over this? Why couldn't he get over this? Everything was fine. Everything had been fine for years. The danger had been gone for years, but still the nightmares didn't stop.

Numbers glared red from the digital clock on his bedside table, telling Stan it was just after three in the morning. The world was dark and quiet and still, and times like this, with everything so calm while a storm raged inside him, made Stan feel as though he might be losing his mind. He picked up his phone and dialed a number, half hoping the receiving end wouldn't pick up. 

Despite this desire, when the ring was cut short, Stan let out a breath of relief.

"Stanley? What's wrong?"

Mike's voice, rough with sleep and slow, but deep and concerned all the same. 

"I... I just..." Stan hadn't tried speaking since he'd woken up, his voice horribly squeaky and strange to his ears, thin and strained. He swallowed. "I..."

"Do you want me to come over?"

"You don't have to do that." Stan said, but even as he did, he glanced at his window as though hoping Mike were already there, hopping off his bike and tapping lightly on the glass. 

"Okay, but do you want me to?" 

Stan sat there for a long moment, worrying his lip with his teeth, too conflicted to voice his answer. He felt horribly selfish as the truth passed his lips.

"Please. Yes." 

"Good, because I was already on my way. I'll be there as fast as I can."

A sob came from Stan's mouth as they hung up, letting his cell phone drop onto the bed, but this one was of gratitude, at disbelief by Mike's selflessness. Over the years, Mike never once slept through one of Stan's calls, never hesitated to offer his company, time of the night or day of the week be damned. 

Now watching his window, Stan was able to see Mike approach down the street on his bike. Mike let his bike fall into the grass as he hopped off, Stan opening the window for him. He stepped through easily, and barely had his feet planted on Stan's bedroom floor before he was pulling Stan into a hug, his arms warm and reassuring and strong, his grip tight.

Stan held him back just as tightly, pressing his face into Mike's neck, trying to let this safety sink in. Mike was something to hold on to, sanity in the silence, safety in the panic. That he wasn't alone. With Mike here, nothing could crawl from the shadows. Nothing could touch him.

Mike rubbed his back, a sign that he was about to let go but Stan's didn't want him to, and when his grip didn't loosen Mike gave a quiet laugh.

"At least let me take my shoes off." He murmured, his voice soft, and Stan stepped back, sitting down on his bed as Mike untied his tennis shoes and lined them up, side by side against the wall under the window. Then he pushed the window closed, sitting down on the bed next to Stan. 

"Want to talk about it?" Mike asked, and Stan sighed, shaking his head.

"There's nothing to talk about." He said, feeling frustration bleed into his voice. "It's the same... The same nightmare." 

"You're not the only one that still has nightmares, you know. We all do." 

"But I... I call you about them, I wake you up, I make you come over and--"

"You aren't burdening me, Stan. I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be." Mike reached over and took Stan's hand, sliding their fingers together. "Besides, Richie and Eddie wake each other up. You're not the only one." 

"Okay, but Richie and Eddie, they... They have each other. That's what they're supposed to do. We're..."

Truly, Stan wasn't sure what he and Mike were. A little too comfortable to be friends, too reserved to be more than that. Stan had kissed Mike once before, but it had been near five in the morning then, Mike pulling back gently before simply telling Stan that he needed to go to sleep. 

"We have each other too." Mike said softly. "I've got you, Stan. Don't doubt that, ever." 

Before Stan could even open his mouth to respond, Mike let him go and began busying himself with Stan's blankets, straightening up his bed and patting the mattress. 

"You need to sleep." He told Stan. "You look exhausted."

"Mike--"

"Come on." Mike laid down, opening his arms, but still Stan didn't move.

"If we all have nightmares, why don't you ever call me?" He couldn't help but ask. He hated how the question sounded, accusatory and almost desperate. He didn't want Mike to think him too fragile or damaged to give out the same comfort he always received; he didn't want Mike to think, that for whatever reason, he couldn't help him in the same way. Mike frowned a little, propping himself up on an arm. When he finally spoke, he seemed to have chosen his words carefully, but they came from his mouth stumbling and unsure all the same.

"Being talked to, or... Or being touched... That doesn't really help me." Mike's eyes fell to the blankets in front of him. "I need to be away, to be alone. I need to breathe, you know?"

Stan knew the question was rhetorical, but after a moment of consideration, nodded anyway. Mike's demon wasn't Pennywise, wasn't IT. It was the fatal damage he'd dealt to another human life: shoving Henry Bowers down the well. Stan could understand a desire for silence and solitude in an attempt to come down from that moment, when all the seconds leading up to it had been screamed curses and a physical struggle.

"I know he was bad." Mike said, his voice simple, his eyes still avoiding Stan's own. "I know he was trying to kill me. But... Sometimes I just need to open my window and close my eyes and remember that I'm a good person. And it's these moments with you I always think about." He finally looked up, and Stan felt his heart still in his chest as their eyes met. "Being able to hold you is a comfort to me too." 

Wordlessly, Stan surrendered. He laid down next to Mike on his mattress, the bed almost too small to fit both of them side by side. Usually, from this problem arose Stan's excuse to rest on Mike, or Mike silently pulling him in, but nerves hummed in Stan's chest. The look in Mike's eyes nagged at a question that was constantly on Stan's mind, and he resolved to ask it, using the unwanted distance as a motivator to get his mouth moving. 

"Mike?"

Mike made a small noise to say he was listening, and Stan heard him shift in the covers to look over, but Stan didn't glance back, half worried about losing his resolve and falling silent, half worried that if he saw Mike's face, he would simply give in, and kiss him again without asking this time. So he licked his lips, forcing the words from his mouth.

"What if I wanted us to have each other the same way Richie and Eddie do?" 

Not exactly the confession he'd dreamt of, but it got his point across, and in the silent Stan lay, stilled in his own baited breath, waiting. He didn't think Mike would mock him, or get angry, or do something like get up and leave, but he almost felt that the gentle let down he was now waiting for might hurt worse. 

To his surprise, Mike gave a light laugh.

"Well, do you want to be the one with the glasses, or the one with the asthma?" 

"I... I'm serious, Mike." 

"I know you are." There was still that amusement in Mike's voice, but when Stan turned his head to finally look at him, he saw it wasn't amusement at all. It was pure happiness, a smile on Mike's face, a brightness in his eyes despite the darkness in the room. "If that's what you want, then I think you should kiss me."

"I've already tried that." 

"You tried it when you were deliriously exhausted and half asleep." Mike countered, and to that Stan couldn't really argue. "I wasn't going to take advantage. But... That doesn't mean I haven't been able to stop thinking about it, though." 

Mike leaned forwards and Stan leaned in to meet him, his eyes falling closed. The kiss was light, gentle and comforting, the taste of a promise left on Stan's lips as he pulled away. Mike found his hand in the dark, looking into Stan's eyes and squeezing his fingers. 

"You really do look tired." Mike murmured after a couple of moments. "We'll talk about this in the morning, alright? But you really should get to sleep." 

He opened his arms again in invitation and Stan gave a little nod, shifting closer.

"Mike?" He asked again, as Mike wrapped an arm around him. Stan wanted to voice his appreciation, but already knew he wouldn't be able to find the right words.

"Yeah?"

"I really like you."

"Hm." Stan heard that smile in Mike's voice again, and nestled a bit more into his chest, rewarded with a chuckle. "I like you too. Though you sound so sleepy I can't help but feel that drowsiness is affecting that confession at least a little." 

"I'll just have to tell you again in the morning, then." 

Stan felt a kiss pressed into his hair. 

"I'm looking forward to it." Mike murmured. Stan closed his eyes, and Mike began to hum softly, the tension leaving Stan's body with a sigh. A small smile still on his lips, Stan drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep.


End file.
